


Volatile Times

by Self_Indulgent_Nonsense



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Just slow in general, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Voice of Reason, bear with me, hella slow burn, slow start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 23:50:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20536688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Self_Indulgent_Nonsense/pseuds/Self_Indulgent_Nonsense
Summary: Sometimes, they really needed a second opinion.Rick brought back more than just guns from Atlanta, and Delilah often wonders if that was really a smart move on her part. It's the end of the world and they're a mess. But they're family, and she's determined to try to keep them all alive.[Kind of a fix-it fic. Slow to start, just bear with me. I promise it'll get interesting. Slow Burn Daryl/OC.VERY SLOW chapter updates. Constructive criticism appreciated.]





	Volatile Times

**Author's Note:**

> I live up to my username. This fic was written for my own entertainment and to try out some new things. That being said, I'm always looking to improve and welcome constructive criticism. My formatting is also probably a bit messy, sorry.  
Title and beginning quotes are from IAMX.
> 
> Things will start to pick up in a couple of chapters, and I fully intend to keep going until at least Season 4.  
Strap in. It's going to be a bumpy ride.

* * *

_  
“You are still sane /  
I could give you just a little brawn if you give me a little brains”  
\- “The Power and The Glory” _

God, her back hurt.

Delilah shifted the heavy backpack off of her shoulders with a soft groan and set it down next to her shotgun. It was a heavy camping pack she’d picked up just before fleeing, filled to the brim with supplies—and, admittedly, a few extras she’d found along the way. At this point, who would tell her off for looting a bracelet or two? A stained wooden bat was strapped securely to one side of her bag, just within reach. She put her pistol back into its holster before bending down to pull a large duffel from the cupboard where she’d hidden it. It always felt a bit like she was in a bad action movie, she thought. Armed to the teeth and soaked in gore.

A man screamed in the distance and she winced. He’d been out there since that group left. Probably on the roof of the department store, where the truck had stopped. But the mass of zeds they’d left behind had that whole building locked down. She couldn’t have gotten near him even if she’d tried, not that she’d dared to. The thought left a bad taste in her mouth. What was the point of finding other survivors if you couldn’t help them?

The stifling heat, her sticky clothes, and the constant smell of rot filling her lungs only made her frustration worse. This whole apocalypse business sucked. The dust mask she wore could only do so much, even with the menthol gel she’d smeared on the inside. Everything had that cloying, sickly sweet smell nowadays. She sometimes thought she could even taste it. The screaming rose in both pitch and volume, then cut off with a sudden curse. She hoped he hadn’t been eaten alive.

No, he was probably fine, she assured herself as she unzipped her duffle bag. He’d yelled and cursed God for a solid twenty minutes before this, and if that didn’t draw the zeds to him… Well, nothing would. Delilah pulled out a pack of crackers and sat down. He was probably just venting again. She ripped open the thin plastic sleeve and shoved a saltine in her mouth. Not the most pleasant sensation, dry crumbs coating the inside of her mouth like mud, but it would do for now. She’d have a real meal once she was back in the safety of her car. Delilah opened the front pocket of her backpack and pulled out a bottle of water, then a worn cardboard box. It rattled as she moved, the shells and rounds inside knocking against each other. Counting ammo was something else better left to the safety of her car. But as it were, her magazine was running low and she wasn’t taking any chances getting out of here.

She drank from the bottle first, lukewarm water salvaged from what little remained in pipes and water tanks. It tasted stale and dusty, like a glass left out too long. She screwed the cap back on and set the bottle down. Flipping the ammo box open with one hand, she picked out a few 9mm rounds and two shells. The box looked dishearteningly empty in her hand, and she vowed to look for more when she got the chance. The shells went into her vest pocket, replacing the ones she’d used that morning, and the 9mm into her handgun’s magazine. She counted as she worked and etched it into the back of her brain. Being one bullet short could mean death out here.  
“Fifteen in the mag,” she muttered to herself, “seven in the box. Fifteen, seven. I can do this.”

Delilah crammed a few more saltines in her mouth and put the rest back into her bag. Another drink, and the bottle followed. She took a deep breath before pulling her pack back onto her shoulders and standing. She was seconds away from lifting her duffle when a loud clang sounded somewhere further into the building, followed by a hard thump.  
“Shit…” she muttered. She took her bat into her hands and carefully walked towards the noise. Please let it be a lone roamer, she mentally begged. Maybe two. Any more than that and she’d have to run.

She heard the footsteps seconds before a large man rounded the corner. She raised her weapon and he immediately stopped.  
“Whoa there Darlin’, I ain’t dead yet!”  
“You bit?” she asked.  
“Not yet.” She eyed the blood dripping from between his fingers, raising an eyebrow, and he grinned. “Did it myself. You like it?”

Delilah hesitated for a moment, then lowered her bat. He was sunburnt as all hell, a little woozy, but…  
“C’mon.” She started walking away. “You’re that guy from the roof, right? Screamin’ yourself hoarse?”  
“Yup.”

She put the bat away and dropped down to dig through her bag. She had a collection of mini camp burners stashed at the bottom and some first aid supplies. The man eyed her warily but didn’t say anything. She stood, swallowing down her nausea, and nodded at him.  
“I’m Delilah. Let’s do this.”  
“Merle Dixon. Don’t fuck it up.”

They walked to the tiny kitchen tucked away in the back of the office, and she lit the first burner with shaking hands. He handed her a flat metal spatula and undid his tourniquet. Blood immediately spurted onto the countertop, and he grimaced as he put the belt between his teeth. Delilah held the metal over the flame until it glowed then quickly pressed it to his arm. He screamed, blunt nails digging into his skin. Swallowing down a hard gag, she did it again. And again. Forcing herself to make the bleeding stop.

The second it did, she threw the spatula down and turned to vomit in the sink. Merle quickly followed, shoving her out of the way. He coughed and spit then turned to her.  
“What, you don’t like barbeque?”  
Delilah chuckled weakly and hurried out of the room, burners forgotten. “I think I just became vegan.”

She sat by her bag and tried to will her nausea away until he came out, gauze wrapped around his stump.  
“Still here, Dollface? Thought you’d have run off by now.”  
She shrugged and held out a bottle of water. “You need to drink. Probably some food too, if you ain’t gonna throw it up.”  
He grabbed it and chugged half of it before sitting down in front of her.  
“Ol’ Merle’s got a stomach of iron.” He thumped his chest for emphasis. “Hand it over.”

She handed him a protein bar, then another when he immediately devoured it. He drank the last of the water and tossed the bottle as far away as he could. Delilah picked at the tape around her forearms as they sat, staring, in silence. Finally, he gestured towards her hands.  
“Hey, Dollface. Why’d you tape fucking magazines to your arms?”  
She dropped her hand. “Roamers can’t bite through it.”  
“And the ski goggles?”  
“Won’t get blood in my eyes.”  
Merle barked out an ugly laugh. “Well ain’t you just the perfect little fucking girl scout? That’s just grand. I bet you’ve built some treehouse somewhere too.”  
“...Living outta my car, actually. Left it just a few blocks away.”  
He stood, slapping his leg with his hand. “Well let’s get goin’ then. Ain’t got all week.”  
She nodded, pulling her backpack onto her shoulders again, and handed him the duffle. “I cleared the way down. I don’t know how the streets are gonna be—head right. There’s an alley path. I-”  
He cut her off with a swift punch to the temple. She staggered a few steps back and fell against a desk. “Wha-”  
“No offense, Dollface. I’ve just got some business to get to.”  
She blinked at him as her vision righted itself, wounded expression clear even behind her mask. He shook his head.  
“Aw, don’t look at me like that. It ain’t personal.” He clicked his tongue. “Tell ya what. Make it out of Atlanta and I’ll owe ya one.”

And with that, Merle left. Delilah listened to his footsteps growing fainter and fainter as she cradled her sore head. It wasn’t long before she sat down and rested it against the cool metal. Bastard. Asshole. Sentient bag of dogshit. She’d begun coming up with more creative insults when she heard more footsteps. Several of them, this time. She cursed and crawled under the desk, drawing her pistol. Her head throbbed with every beat of her head. 

"Merle!"  
She sagged against the desk. Alive, then. The man shouted again and she huffed, the sound muffled against the thick cotton of her dust mask.  
"Oh great, now this one 's raisin' hell,” she muttered. “Like we didn't have enough as it is…”  
Another man spoke up. "We're not alone here. Remember?"  
The first man scoffed in response. "Screw that. He could be bleeding out. You said so yourself."

And what a tragedy that would be. She crawled out of her hiding place and inched around the corner, pistol cocked but held low.  
“ Shut up! ” she hissed. “ If you’re looking for the redneck, he’s gone."

The four men immediately turned to her, weapons drawn and aimed straight at her forehead. She slowly put up her hands and stood. Rescue, or execution? At this point, she wasn’t quite sure which option she’d like better. She looked towards the cop, eyeing the star pinned to his chest.  
“Relax. I’m not out to get you. Even if you did get me trapped in here overnight, what with your little rodeo yesterday. Your guy, Merle? Took care of his stump a bit ago—then he punched me in the head and ran off. I’d say he’s doing fine.”  
"Told you he was tough.” The first man, a scruffy redneck, said. “Nobody can kill Merle but Merle."

Delilah didn’t move. There was a heavy pause, then the four hesitantly lowered their weapons and looked at each other. Deciding something. The redneck was the first to look at her again, though he immediately turned back to the cop.  
“What are we doin’ just standing here? Let’s go!”  
“Try that way,” she said. A jerk of her head indicated the direction.

That seemed to get the group going. They walked around her, keeping a wide berth as though she were a wild animal. It made sense, all things considered, but their caution still tickled that little feeling of annoyance in the back of her mind. Even if she had wanted to attack, four on one was hardly a fair fight. She rolled her shoulders under the weight of her bag and winced. Man, her head was really starting to hurt. Hopefully, that was more from the punch than dehydration. Good thing he wasn’t left-handed… But, God, how long did she have before sundown now? Enough to get back to her car? Times like these made her wish she hadn’t broken her watch; she had no idea what time it was, nor how long she’d been sitting there. Best to get on with it.

She made her way to the kitchen, scrunching her nose as the acrid smell of burnt flesh assaulted her senses. Her burners littered the stove. Merle’s bloody belt still sat right where he’d tossed it. The memory alone made bile rise in the back of her throat.  
"He left the building? Why the hell would he do that?"

She ignored the question, certain it hadn’t been directed at her. Setting her pack down, she began salvaging what she could. The burners, at least, would still be of use.  
"Why wouldn't he? He's out there alone as far as he knows, doin' what he's gotta do. Survivin'.”  
"You call that survivin'? Just wandering out in the streets, maybe passin' out? What are his odds out there?"   
"No worse than being handcuffed and left to rot by you sorry pricks."

And there it was. There was a long silence, and she dared to glance over her shoulder. Merle’s brother stepped up to the cop.  
“You're the one who couldn't kill him. Ain't so worried about some dumb  _ dead _ bastard."  
The other man stared back, unfazed. "What about a thousand dumb dead bastards? Different story?"  
"Why don't you take a tally? Do what you want. I'm gonna go get him."  
"Daryl, wait."

Ah. Merle and Daryl. The cop’s shirt said Grimes, but that didn’t mean anything—and why was he walking around in uniform anyway?  
“Get your hand off me! You can't stop me.”  
Maybe he was fresh out of a safehouse. She’d seen a few of those in the beginning, bright-eyed and ready to take on the world. That look never lasted very long.  
"I don't blame you,” said Grimes. “He's family, I get that. I went through hell to find mine, I know exactly how you feel.” He paused. “He can't get far with that injury. We could help you check a few blocks around, but only if we keep a _level _head."  
Dixon seemed to swallow down his temper before answering. "I could do that."  
Grimes looked towards the other two, his expression questioning. The black man shook his head in response.  
“Only if we get those guns first. I'm not strollin' the streets of Atlanta with just my good intentions, okay?”  


There were a few hums of agreement as she set her bag back onto her shoulders.  
“And you?”  
She turned towards Grimes, one eyebrow raised. “What about me?”  
“Are you coming with us?” he asked.  
“That wasn’t really the plan, no.” She shrugged. “You don’t know me, I don’t know you. But I really ain’t got nothing better to do if you want an extra pair of hands.”  
“She has a point… We  _ don’t  _ know her,” said the slight Asian man to her left.  
Dixon seemed to agree with that, at least. “We don’t need to be wastin’ time on this. For all we know, she could be infected.”  
“I’m not,” she replied with another shrug, “but I get your point. Listen, you’ve got the advantage here. I’m outnumbered and weighed down. If you want me to scram, I’ll scram.”  
“I say we give her a chance.”  
“T-Dog, come on.”  
“What? Who’s it gonna hurt, Glenn? We brought Rick in, and he didn’t really make a great impression—no offense.”  
“None taken,” replied the cop.

She smiled behind her mask. Cute little group. They seemed nice enough, less likely to punch her in the face. Maybe she’d try sticking around for once.  
Glenn sighed. “I mean… I guess, yeah.” He looked at her. “If you can prove you’re not infected, I guess you can come.”  
From his disgusted snort, Dixon didn’t seem too happy about the ruling. The woman grinned, pulling her goggles up to the top of her head. Her smile reached her eyes, hazel irises glittering.  
“Cool. I’m Delilah, by the way. Who wants to come and pat me down? I promise I’m not bleeding from anywhere I shouldn’t be.”

There was a long silence before Rick stepped up to give her a quick pat-down and paused to check if she had a fever. When he didn’t find anything (to no one’s surprise), she pulled her goggles back down and grabbed her shotgun. “Alright. Lead the way, then.”

* * *

"You're not doing this alone," said Rick.  
Dixon snorted, stretching to see the diagram Glenn had drawn on the ground. "Even I think it's a bad idea, and I don't even like you much."  
"It's a good idea, okay, if you just hear me out."

It  _ did  _ sound like a stupid plan, Delilah thought, but she didn’t know what the kid was capable of. Maybe he was an Olympic sprinter.  Glenn pointed down at the map again, interrupting her thoughts.  
"If we go out there in a group, we're slow, drawing attention. If I'm alone, I can move fast. Look." He placed a binder clip on one of the streets. "That's the tank, five blocks from where we are now." A crumpled post-it note. "That's the bag of guns." He pointed to a different street. "Here's the alley I dragged you into when we first met. That's where Daryl and I will go."  
The man shifted, looking from the crude map to its creator. "Why me?"  
"Your crossbow's quieter than his gun."  
He and Rick exchanged a look, but he didn’t argue. Glenn added a bookmark to the map. "While Daryl waits here in the alley, I run up the street, grab the bag."  
"You got us elsewhere?" Rick asked with a frown.  
He grabbed an eraser and added it a few blocks up from the tank. "You, Delilah, and T-Dog. Right. You'll be in this alley here."  
"Two blocks away? Why?"  
"I may not be able to come back the same way.” He explained. “Walkers might cut me off. If that happens, I won't go back to Daryl. I'll go forward instead, all the way around to that alley where you guys are. Whichever direction I go, I got you in both places to cover me. Afterwards, we'll all meet back here." 

Delilah vaguely pointed towards the map. “I don’t get why you’ve got us split up like that. Shouldn’t we be doing two and two?”  
He shook his head. “No. Look, it’s— Can you just trust me on this?”  
“I guess.”

She shrugged. That was good enough for her. After all, she wasn’t the one being sent out by herself. They all sat in silence, nervous energy crackling between them, before Dixon spoke. "Hey kid, what'd you do before all this?"  
Glenn frowned at him. "Delivered pizzas. Why?"

* * *

They left all their spare equipment in the office and followed Glenn. Delilah, for one, was more than happy to leave her bag where it was. She’d switched out her shotgun for the bat, taking Glenn’s words to heart. Shooting at the wrong time could mean their deaths. He led them farther into the building, then up a ladder and onto a roof.  
"Watch your steps. You fall, you die."

It felt a bit surreal, not to mention dangerous, to be walking from roof to roof. She couldn’t deny it was a good strategy, however, especially not with the moaning hoards below. When they reached the alley, the five of them exchanged uneasy glances. This could go wrong in an instant, and there’d be no telling who would make it out if it did. Glenn looked down to the empty street, then positioned himself on the ladder attached to the side of the building.  
"Here goes nothing…"

He climbed down the bright yellow rungs, frantically checking the alley for roamers. Dixon followed, crossbow in hand as soon as he hit the ground. They ran off to their alley, hugging the walls. She turned to see Rick and T-Dog standing behind her.  
"Ladies first."  
She rolled her eyes and made her way down. "Figures. I’ll take point."

She glanced around the corner as Rick hit the ground, T-Dog following suit. So far so good. Unless the hoard shifted, they ought to be able to sneak by. They carefully made their way to their spot, ducking behind cars and trucks as needed. Unfortunately, they didn’t get a chance to breathe before a young man's voice ran out.  
" Ayudame!"

Rick turned to T-Dog, fear clear in his expression. Delilah nodded when his eyes met hers, and they took off towards the sound without another thought. Their run turned into a sprint as Glenn's panicked voice replaced the stranger’s screams.  
"Get off me. Get off me! Daryl!  _ Daryl _ _!_"  
A door slammed, tires screeched, and the other man’s voice followed. "Come back here, you sumbitches!"

They ran into the alley just as he grabbed some teen in a wife-beater and threw him against the wall. Rick ran in-between them, pushing Dixon back.  
"Whoa whoa whoa. Stop it!"  
He gestured wildly, face flushed a deep red. "I'm gonna kick your nuts up in your throat!"

Delilah was taken aback at his anger, though not entirely surprised. Dixons didn’t exactly seem to be the most level-headed of people.  
The teen started struggling against T-Dog's hand. "Let me go."  
"Chill out. Daryl, what happened?"  
"They took Glenn. That little bastard and his little bastard homie friends.” He snarled. “I'm gonna stomp your ass!"  
"They _what_?" Delilah snapped, her grip on her bat tightening. “Why the hell would they do that? This ain’t the time to be kidnappin’ folks!” She swore and turned to point at the stranger. “I didn’t sign up for this, _vato_. You’d best tell us where he went before things get ugly. "   
T-Dog spoke up before he could answer. "Guys, guys! We're cut off!"

And indeed, zeds were piling up against the fence, pushing against the flimsy wire mesh. The sight sent a chill down her spine. _Goddammit_, all she’d wanted was some water and a couple of first aid kits. If she’d known things would get this fucked, she’d never have set foot in the building. Rick pointed at the ladder behind them, still holding Dixon off.  
"Get to the lab. Go."  
T-Dog grabbed their hostage by the arm before running. She followed suit, not bothering to wait and see what the other two were doing. Dixon yelled from behind her.  
"Come on. Damn, let's go!"

Rick swiped a hat off the ground and ran past her, the bag on his shoulder bag swinging back and forth. They sprinted back to their building, avoiding the few walkers prowling around and dispatching the few that took interest. Tucking her bat under one arm, Delilah started climbing back up the latter.  
"C'mon! Get your ass movin'!"  
She glared down at Dixon as best as she could, continuing her climb. "Doing my best here. I’m down a hand and the stiffs aren’t on our heels, chill out."  
He started up the ladder, his hands grasping the rungs as soon as her feet left them. "What'd you say, girlie?! I oughta kick your ass!"  
She rolled her eyes. "God, nevermind.”

They reached the top soon after and she hoisted herself over the ledge. Delilah stayed nearby long enough to make sure he got up safely, then moved over to the roof’s fire escape.  
“Age before beauty,” she said with a smirk.  
He gave her a disgruntled look. Well fine. At least  _she _ thought she was funny. She jerked her head towards the hole.  
“C’mon. Go.”  
He gave her another look before lowering himself down the ladder.

* * *

Rick turned to them as they walked back into the room, putting his hat down. "Everything alright?"  
"Yeah, we're good,” she replied with a nod. “Roof’s secure."  


Rick nodded and turned back to their hostage. "Those men you were with, we need to know where they went."  
"I ain't tellin' you nothing," he said, wiping his mouth.  
T-Dog sighed, shaking his head. "Jesus, man. What the hell happened back there?"  
"I told you.” Dixon started pacing. “This little turd and his douchebag friends came out of nowhere and jumped me."  
The Latino glanced up at him, crossing his arms. "You're the one who jumped me,  _ puto _ . Screamin' about tryin' to find his brother like it's my damn fault…"  
“Fucking hell…” Delilah muttered.

Dixon paced faster behind her. And they couldn’t have been civil to each other for five seconds? Avoided this whole thing?  
"They took Glenn, could've taken Merle too."  
The kid looked up, an amused expression on his face. "Merle? What kind of hick name is _that_? I wouldn't name my _dog_ Merle."

There was a second of silence, so thick she swore she heard the skittering of mice in the walls. Then, of course, Dixon lunged at the boy and tried to kick his head in. Rick pushed him back, panting with the effort.  
"Dammit, Daryl. Back off."

Surprisingly enough, he did. Rage bubbled hot under his skin, the lines of his back pulled tight. He looked back at the kid again and walked over to Glenn's pack, rummaging through it. Delilah watched him carefully, tense and ready to jump up. He pulled out something wrapped in a blue bandana, undoing the folds.  
"Wanna see what happened to the last guy that pissed me off?"

He turned and tossed a hand onto the teen's lap. Delilah’s eyes widened, and she felt the sour taste of bile on her tongue. That had to be Merle’s hand. The kid screamed and scrambled out of his chair. She shook her head, vaguely waving her hand in his direction.  
“Dude… You can’t go around throwing body parts, man. That’s just sick.”  
Dixon ignored her and jumped on teen. "Start with the feet this time."

Rick pulled him back again, getting between the two. He looked down at the boy, his expression hard but not angry.  
"The men you were with took our friend. All we want to do is talk to them; see if we can work something out."  
The kid shook his head, arms crossed. "I'm not taking you to them."  
Rick sighed and squatted to his level. "We just want to talk. That's it. I don't want to fight unless we absolutely have to."  
"Why would I trust you?” He dropped his eyes. “One of your people tried to kill me."  
“Look, Daryl’s just upset.” Rick held up a hand before the man could complain. “You know what it’s like to lose family? There’s no worse pain in the world. We just want to talk to your group and get our friend back.”  
He swallowed nervously and nodded. "Alright. Just… Promise to talk to them before doing anything."  
“Deal.”

* * *

They stopped behind a busted window, trees and the remainder of a wall shielding them from view. The kid sat down with a nervous sigh.  
"Here. They- They keep the area clear.”  
Delilah’s fingers tightened nervously around the stock of her shotgun. Well, at least they wouldn’t have to keep an eye out for zeds.  
"Grimes, what's the plan? I’m not too keen on just waltzin’ in there. Bad enough we have to walk through this maze..."  
Rick pulled out a couple shotgun cartridges, rolling them in his hand. "I don't know. We need some kind of backup, insurance. In case things go south."  
"I'll do it,” said T-Dog. “I'll take the bag and go post myself on the wall. Keep an eye on you guys."  
"You sure you're up for this?" Rick asked.  
T-Dog nodded, taking a shaky breath. "Yeah."  
"Okay."

Delilah glanced at the two of them and sighed. “I’m going with you. One on each side, make sure we’ve got them covered.”  
“With what, that shotgun?” Dixon asked with a scoff. “Might as well turn back now if you’re gonna be takin’ potshots at us.”  
She tapped the handgun at her waist, her frown hidden. “I’m a good shot, and I  don’t take _risks_ . If we’re lucky, none of us will even have to shoot. Now c’mon. Let’s go, T-Dog.”

T-Dog took the bag of guns, his own in hand, and started walking without complaint. Either he didn’t see the point in arguing, she thought, or he actually believed her. Whatever the case, she liked having someone on her team for once. She followed him with barely a glance back. There was a staircase not too far, then stacks of crumbling bricks. Easy climbing. Daryl’s voice floated up to them as they disappeared around the corner.  
"One wrong move, you get an arrow in the ass. Just so you know."

The two of them split up early with heartfelt wishes of luck and safety, weaving in and out of the debris cluttering their path. After a couple detours through courtyards and abandoned warehouses, she crouched down behind the crumbling lip of a terrace. T- Dog appeared on the other side after a minute or so, and she breathed out a sigh of relief. Neither of them got lost. Or worse. He laid down on the roof and rested his rifle against the edge. A large wooden door broke up the wall between them, dark and intimidating. T-Dog raised his hand and pointed towards it.  
_ Stay on guard. _   
Delilah didn’t need to be told twice, her pistol held firmly in one hand. She nodded once at him.  
_ Understood . _

She thumbed the safety off at the sound of footsteps. The kid’s head popped around the corner, followed by Grimes. Good. Delilah toed a rock off of the wall to get his attention. He sent a quick smile her way, but the deep line between his eyebrows didn’t ease. The sound of a few voices filtered out the building, only to cut out when someone undid the latch on the door. A man stepped out as it opened, all controlled calm. He looked the teen over.  
"You okay little man?"  
"They're gonna cut off my feet, _carnal_, " he said with a little shrug.  
The man looked over to Rick, raising an eyebrow. "Cops do that?"  
The kid shook his head. "Not him. This redneck _puto _here. He cut off some dude's hand, man. He showed it to me. G, you gotta get me outta here."  
Dixon shifted his crossbow, eyes narrowing. "Shut up."  
Two more guys came out, pointing at Dixon. "Hey, that's that _vato _right there, homes. He shot me in the ass with an arrow. What's up, homes, huh?  
The first man put his hand over the guy's gun, pushing it down. "Chill, _ese_, Chill. Chill." He paused. "This true? He wants Miguelito's feet? That's pretty sick, man."  
Grimes lowered his gun an inch or two. "We were hopin' more for a calm discussion."

Worry coiled in Delilah’s stomach. This was turning sour, and fast. If G didn’t go along with it, things could get ugly for them. They were out-manned and almost certainly out-gunned. G looked over to Dixon, then back at Grimes.  
"That hillbilly jumps Felipe's little cousin, beats on him, threatens to cut off his feet, Felipe gets an arrow in the ass, and you want a calm discussion? You fascinate me."  
Rick nodded in acknowledgment. "Heat of the moment. Mistakes were made… On both sides. A misunderstanding, that’s all."  
"Who's that dude to you anyway?” He asked, gesturing towards Dixon. “You don't look related."  
Grimes tipped his head to the side, as if considering his answer "He's one of our group, more or less. I'm sure you have a few like him."  
Dixon took a step forward. "You got my brother in there?"  
"Sorry,” G replied with a shrug, “we're fresh out of white boys. But I've got Asian. You interested?"

Rick nodded and nudged Miguel forward with his shotgun. "I have one of yours, you have one of mine. Sounds like an even trade."  
"Don't sound even to me."  
The boy whined, taking half a step forward. "Guillermo. Come on, man."  
"My people got attacked. Where's the compensation for their pain and suffering?” G asked. “...More to the point, where's my bag of guns?"  
Rick raised an eyebrow. "Guns?"  
"The bag Miguel saw in the street. The bag Felipe and Jorge were going back to get. That bag of guns," he replied with a smirk.

Delilah swore softly and edged closer to the crumbling wall. So that’s what they wanted. The guns. And their “pain and suffering?” What a load of horse shit. They’d taken an arrow to the ass and left their man behind.  
"You're mistaken,” Grimes replied.  
"I don't think so."  
"About it bein' yours,” he clarified. “It's my bag of guns."  
Guillermo took a step back, shaking his head once. "That bag was in the street. Anybody could come around and say it was theirs. I'm supposed to take your word?” He paused. “What's stopping my people from unloading on you right here and now, and I take what's mine?"

Delilah took aim, her grip firm and her aim steady, and lined up the V of her sights with G’s nose. Grimes had better know what he was doing. She might get the first shot off, but they wouldn’t get out of here in one piece.  
"You could do that," Rick conceded with a nod of his head. He turned his face towards where T-Dog was posted, scoped gun visible. "Or not."  
She whistled from the other side, the sound sharp and clear. G looked between the three of them and rocked back on his heels.  
" Oye!"

Two men appeared on the rooftop, dragging a third one along—with a bag over his head. Delilah cursed under her breath. It had to be Glenn. They removed the bag from his head and he yelped, the sound muffled by the tape over his mouth. He was too close to the edge, she thought. She raised her gun up towards them. If they dropped him, she’d end them both.  
"I see two options,” said Guillermo. “You come back with Miguel and my bag of guns, everybody walks. Or you come back locked and loaded, we'll see which side spills more blood."

None of them replied. They couldn’t, not until those guys pulled Glenn from the edge. G smiled, the expression disgustingly smug, and turned his back. The doors closed behind him. Delilah lowered her gun and pulled her mask down.  
“Glenn? You okay?”  
He shook his head, straining against the tape.  
“We’re not gonna leave you behind,” she said. “I promise.”

The man on his left barked out a laugh, flipped her off, and dragged Glenn out of sight. Delilah swore and loosed a vicious kick on some poor, unsuspecting brick. It clattered to the ground below, the sound deafening in the heavy silence. God, why’d they have to make everything so complicated? This was supposed to be an easy trade! Compensation for their pain and suffering?! What about compensation for having to haul ass all over Atlanta in this heat? For threatening to push Glenn off a roof?

She scrambled down off the wall and pulled her mask completely off. This was so completely, utterly, _fucked_. Her breath stuttered, from adrenaline or anger she didn’t know. This was society now. Gangs pitted against each other in a struggle for what meager supplies remained. The life she’d tried so hard to get away from, brought back to bite her in the ass—literally. She gritted her teeth and turned back towards the office building. Grimes would probably expect her to rejoin their group. She didn’t know them from Adam, and they had brought her nothing but trouble. But the thought of wandering back out there alone, sleeping with one eye open and talking to shadows, curled sour in her gut.

Not unless there was no other choice.

A few minutes later, she dropped through the roof exit with a grunt. Shoving her pistol back into its holster, she called out into the empty space.  
“Grimes? You in here?”  
His voice echoed in the affirmative. She found them a few seconds later, her mask now back in place. Grimes flashed her a quick smile, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes.  
“Wasn’t sure you’d come back.”  
She let out a soft snort and patted her backpack. “Wasn’t gonna leave my stuff behind, no matter how much you might want it.” She straightened and looked at their ragtag group. Her eyes didn’t so much as gloss over Miguel. “What’s plan B?”  
“Complicated,” he replied. “Plan B is complicated.”

Rick dropped the infamous bag of guns onto the table and began rummaging through it. Daryl paced off to the side, fists clenched.  
"Them guns are worth more than gold. Gold won't protect your family or put food on the table. You willin' to give that up for that kid?"  
T-Dog piped up from his seat by the blackboard. "If I knew we'd get Glenn back, I might agree. But you think that vato across the way is just gonna hand him over?"  
Miguel looked over, clearly offended. "You calling G a liar?"  
“God, shut _up_… ” Delilah groaned.  
"Are you a part of this?” Dixon asked with a sound slap to the teen’s ear. “You wanna hold on to your teeth?"  
T-Dog kept going as though they weren’t even there. "Question is, do you trust that man's word?"  
Dixon took a seat on the windowsill and crossed his arms. "No, question is what are you willing to bet on it? Could be more than guns. Could be your life. Glenn worth that to you?"  
"What little life I have I owe to him,” Grimes replied. “I was nobody to Glenn, just some idiot stuck in a tank. He could've walked away, but he didn't. Neither will I."  
"So you're gonna hand the guns over?"  


He looked up from the bag, a hand on the table. "I didn't say that." He looked at the rest of their little group and shook his head. "There's nothing keeping you here. You should get out, head back to camp."  
"And tell your family what?" T-Dog asked.

He rubbed his forehead, as though the mere thought had given him a headache. Grime’s wife must’ve still been alive, she thought. Delilah wasn’t particularly eager to join up with a larger group either. Miguel stood up, only to be pushed back down.  
"Come on, this is nuts… Just do like G says."  
They ignored him and stepped up to load their guns. He whined and looked around the group.  
"C'mon… Seriously. You're gonna get us killed."  


Delilah loaded a fresh shell into her shotgun and turned to the teen. "Shut up, will ya? They need the guns to protect the camp, and we're not leaving one of our own behind. End of story."  
He snorted and looked out the window. "You've never even been there. Your  _camp _ doesn't know you exist. What’s it matter to you?"  
She shrugged and swung her gun over her shoulder. "Last I checked, I didn’t need a reason to be a decent human being."  
“They were arguin’ about you, ya know. Said you shouldn’t even be here.”  
From the pause in Grimes’ movements, he wasn’t lying. She rolled her eyes.  
“And?”  
“They don’t trust you. You’re really gonna stick your neck out for ‘em?”  
“Uh, yeah,” she deadpanned. “That’s the plan.” She turned to leave the room and jutted a thumb over her shoulder. “Might wanna muzzle that one if he’s gonna keep saying stupid shit.”

She sat down by her bag and pulled out a bottle of water. God, what she wouldn’t do for a tray of ice cubes right now… Her skin felt gritty and sticky, and the green cotton of her shirt stuck to her back. If she sat still long enough, she swore she could feel drops of sweat rolling down the back of her neck. After a few minutes, Grimes stepped out.  
“Thanks for sticking around, Delilah. We could use the manpower,” he admitted.  
“Call me Lily,” she said with a faint smile. “If I’m gonna be sticking around, we might as well get friendly. Rick.”  
“Alright,” he replied with a nod and a smile of his own. “Lily it is.”  
She held her bottle up in cheer and downed it. Sweet, sweet hydration. Dixon shoved a bound and gagged Miguel through the door before stepping out.  
“Y’all ready?”  
  
The both of them nodded back, and Lily stood. Hostage in tow, they walked back through that god-awful city, back to the Vatos' headquarters. The doors opened as soon as they reached the courtyard, and Dixon pushed their prisoner into the building before following. Delilah didn’t have time to protest before the doors closed behind them, Guillermo and his men surrounding their little group. He looked at Rick's gun, then at the man himself.  
"I see my guns, but they're not all in the bag."  
"That's because they're not yours,” he replied. “I thought I mentioned that."  
One of G’s cronies—Felipe, she thought—leaned over to him. "Let's just shoot these fools right now, _ese_. Alright? Unload on their asses, _ese_."  
G ignored him and looked Rick over. "I don't think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation."  
"No, I'm pretty clear." Rick cut Miguel's binds off before shoving him forward. "You have your man. I want mine."  
"I'm gonna chop up your boy. I'm gonna feed him to my dogs. They're the evilest, nastiest—”  
“Whoa, hey!” Delilah stepped up, her pistol now pointed down. “Why are we talkin’ about chopping people up? What’s wrong with you? The dead are up and about, and you want to start a bloodbath over some _guns_? ” She shook her head. “Draw every dead bastard within four miles here with that shit.”  


He looked at her, his lips pressed into a thin line, but didn’t argue. She sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of her nose.  
“Look, I dunno what bullshit, made-up scenario you’ve got floating around in your head, but we just want Glenn back. That’s it.” She paused to glance over to Grimes. “And if you need a couple of guns to defend your folks, I’m sure we could work something out. Right? Even if you started this shit. We don’t need to be killing each other.”  
"Felipe! Felipe!"  
G turned to the old woman as soon as she appeared, fear clear in his voice. "_Abuela,_ go back with the others—now!"  
"Get that old lady out of the line of fire!"  
Guillermo looked at the tiny woman behind him. "_Abuela_, listen to your _mijo_, okay? This is not the place for you right now."  
"Mr. Gilbert is having trouble breathing” she continued without a care. “He needs his asthma stuff. Carlito didn't find it. He needs his medicine."  
"Felipe, go take care of it, okay?” He snapped. “And take your grandma with you. _Abuela, deje por favor_."  
The old lady pushed forward. "Who are those men?"  
"_Abuela, por favor. Deje con me."_ Felipe pleaded, to no avail.  
The tiny woman glared up at Rick, shaking her head. "Don't you take him."  
"Ma'am?"  
"Felipe's a good boy. He have his trouble but he pull himself together. We need him here." She continued, shuffling forward.  
"Ma'am,” he started awkwardly, “I'm not here to arrest your grandson."  
"Then what do you want him for?"  
"He's… Helpin' us find a missin' person,” he answered reluctantly. “A friend of ours named Glenn.”  
"The Asian boy? He's with Mr. Gilbert. Come.” She grabbed Rick's hand and began dragging him away. “Come, I show you. He needs his medicine."   
"Let 'em pass..."

The old woman led them to a bright building that looked suspiciously like an old folks' home. Delilah hung back, twisting her gun’s strap nervously as the rest of the group walked in. They were ready to kill each other not five minutes ago. She wasn’t an expert in end-of-days standoffs, but shouldn’t they be a little more concerned? And _not _walking into unknown territory? This all seemed a little too easy. She let out a frustrated sound and followed. Might as well try to keep the idiots out of trouble. She caught up with them right as Rick slowed to a stop.  
"What the hell is this?"  
"An asthma attack,” she heard Glenn reply. “Couldn't get his breath all of a sudden."   
"I thought you were being eaten by dogs, man."

Delilah sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Well, since no one will say it… Hi Glenn. Glad to know you’re alive. Also, what the fuck?”  
Glenn ruffled his hair, looking down. "Thanks… And sorry."  
She sighed again and sat in the closest chair, picking dried zombie bits from her clothes. She pushed her goggles up and her mask down at the same time. “Please tell me y’all have a shower."  
Glenn sat by her, giving her a shy half-smile. "You can bathe back at camp. Lake water's cold and we only have bar soap, but it works."  
T-Dog sat on the other side of her, leaning on his elbows. "Actually, we only got one soap. Period."  
"Hey, if it works…" she trailed off with a smile.  
Rick walked over not a minute later, Daryl in tow, and motioned for them to follow.  
"C'mon. We have some things to discuss with Guillermo here."

They filed into a small room, and Delilah once again found herself nervous. Tugging her goggles down, she hovered by the door.  
“I’ll, uh, keep an eye out here,” she said. “Just in case.”

Rick nodded, seeming almost grateful, and she turned her back to them. Their chatter floated past her, not sticking in her ears until she heard Guillermo speak.  
“My people got attacked and you show up with Miguel hostage. Appearances."  
“What the _fuck _are you talking about?” Lily asked, sticking her head into the room. “Hostage? You left him _behind_. All we ever wanted was to get Glenn back—and we_ told you_ that. Can't tell me you're that dense.” She scoffed turned back around. “Miss me with that bullshit.”  
“I suppose you’re right. Their story… I didn’t want to question it. It’s easier that way,” he admitted. “I’m sorry for the way we reacted.”  
"Guess the world changed," said T-Dog.

* * *

Delilah was more than happy to finally leave the office building for good. They stepped out into the empty street, squinting against the sun, and she breathed out a sigh of relief. Glenn walked besides Rick, a smile on his face.  
"Admit it, you only came back to Atlanta for the hat."  
Rick chuckled in return. "Don't tell anybody."  
Daryl turned around, walking backward. "You've given away half our guns and ammo."  
"Not  _ nearly  _ half."  
"For what? Bunch of old farts who are gonna die off momentarily anyhow? Seriously, how long you think they got?"  
Rick looked off to the side, his tone heavy. "How long do any of us?"  
"God,” Delilah muttered, “I know it’s the end of the world and all, but are y’all always this depressing?”

One of the guys snorted a laugh beside her. Then suddenly, the group stopped and stared at the train tracks in front of them.  
"Oh my god," Glenn said, horrified.  
"Where the hell's our van?" asked Daryl.  
“We left it right there. Who would take it?"  
"Merle," Rick answered with a frown.  
A few seconds of silence passed before Daryl turned to the rest of them. "He's gonna be takin' some vengeance back to camp."  
Delilah sighed, rubbing her face. "Well then we better start walkin'. I don't wanna be in here when it gets dark."  


She began walking off, only to be cut off by Daryl's arm.  
"Where the hell do ya think you're goin'?” he asked. “Camp's that way."  
The brunette shrugged and pointed forward. "Maybe, but my car's over there."  
"Your car?"  
"Yeah,” she said. “Unless corpsecicles can drive, it should still be there."

They reached it a few minutes later, late afternoon sun bouncing off the rusting silver paint. An old Honda Accord, it really wasn’t much to look at, but embarrassment never crossed her mind as she gleefully pulled the trunk open. Never had she wanted to get rid of her bag this badly. Unlocking it with one hand, she vaguely gestured towards the backseat.  
“Pile on in.” She told them. “There’s not a whole lot of room, what with my shit being all over the place, but you’re just gonna have to deal. Glenn, you’re up front. Tell me where to go.”

Rick ended up squished between the two other men, the bag of guns in his lap. T-Dog seemed rather happy to hold on to her pillow, and Glenn not-so-subtly eyed the packs of Gatorade at his feet. Eventually, Delilah rolled her eyes and told him to just take one. They barely spoke on the way to the quarry, but it wasn’t a particularly tense silence. It spoke of fatigue and the bone-deep relief of having made it out alive.

It was dark by the time they reached camp. She cut the engine and climbed out, eyeing her surroundings warily. There were people gathered around the campfire, more in a group of tents off to the side. This group was… big. Bigger than she’d expected. Rick gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder and walked towards the campfire. Glenn and T-Dog followed, but she still hung back. Maybe she ought to wait until morning. She tugged her mask up over her mouth and nervously picked at her holster.  
“They ain’t gonna eat you, ya know.”  
Lily jumped, her hand reflexively tightening on her gun. She’d almost forgotten he was there. Dixon stood on the other side of her car, eyeing her speculatively.   
“Well, you never know nowadays,” she joked weakly.  
He snorted.  
“Shouldn’t  _you _ be joining them?” she asked.  
“Don’t feel like it.”

She hummed but didn’t push it. It was as good a reason as any, really. She watched as a young woman left the campfire, walking towards the RV. There was a chair set up on the roof, perfect for- She frowned.  
“Hey, Dixon?”  
He hummed.  
“Do y’all not have anyone on watch?”  
“What?”  
“There’s no one on guard. On the RV? Chair’s empty.”  
“Guess not.”

His tone was neutral, but she could see his frown in the dim. He gripped his crossbow and walked towards the fire. Delilah hesitated for a second before following. Something felt off. She’d take up watch herself until someone stepped up. But the closer she got to the RV, the more her hair stood on end. She glanced around nervously and drew her pistol.  
“Dixon?”

He shouted out to the group just as the girl she’d seen stepped out of the RV again. Delilah turned her head just as a roamer took a chunk from her arm.  
“Zombie!”  
Lily’s shot went clean through its head, but it was too late. The girl was screaming, clutching the bleeding wound. She sprinted towards the RV and jumped up on the roof, desperately fumbling for the flashlight in her pocket.  
“Come on, come on…” She cursed. “Get to the RV!”

Her flashlight’s beam flicked from one face to the next as she aimed, barely pausing between shots.  Soon, but not soon enough, the only sound to be heard was the heavy panting below her. Delilah wiped her face with the back of one shaking hand. This… This was not what she’d hoped to find. She slowly climbed down as the survivors screamed and cried, hugging each other, and checked her mag. Two left.  
“Down to nine,” she whispered to herself.

Her eyes met Dixon’s, not fifteen feet away from her, and they uneasily nodded at each other. Good work on a bad night. She put her gun away, willing her hands to still, and crossed her arms. A man stood alone before her, staring out into the dark.

"I remember my dream now. I remember why I dug the holes."


End file.
